


From The Beginning; a Trainwreck

by gemnosha



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), sciles - Fandom, skittles (Teen Wolf)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hybrids, I fixed it so that John was back to the canonical Noah, M/M, Past and Present, Scott turned Stiles while he was possessed, Smut, everything is canon except, set from season 3B, the angst really helps build up to that smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-08 22:38:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8866201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gemnosha/pseuds/gemnosha
Summary: A yellow blur of feathers came to Scott's view, a canary bird darting through the sky as if it were in a hurry to escape the touch of the earth. Scott was as well. He was pedalling the chains of his bike until the sound of rattling began to dissipate with the noise of the forest, his hearing hyperfocused on one thing in particular: howling. Not just any howling, but the howling of a beta that he never would have suspected to hear from. And like a yellow canary darting away from Beacon Hills, he felt like if he pedaled fast enough he might just fall off the face of the earth before the moon pops out from the sockets of the sky
    Or;Scott and Stiles have been best friends for ever, and they'll always be. But, high-school, girls, wolves, banshees and foxes start changing their lives. During season 3B, Scott was forced to bite the nogitsune since wolves and foxes don't get along or in other words if you bite a fox they won't survive the bite because they are already supernatural. This story reimagines it as if Scott couldn't bite the nogitsune, itself, while he was in Void Stiles' head but the physical body of Stiles instead.





	1. 12 Year-Olds; Beryl Eyes Aglow

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
> **Dedicated to**  
>  My one and only best friend,  
> the one who helped edit these chapters at ungodly hours and managed  
> to push me to the very last word.
> 
> And to my Queen and mentor,  
> thank you for working between Uni and as I say "jolling"  
> to read and encourage me in every way.  
> 

Scott McCall was about twelve. The water ran over him like the light of sunrise, wetting every crevice it could find. His hands followed the dampness, caressing the fine, sore and growing muscles on his body. And then, he felt something different, something new. On the flatness of his belly, a patch of hair had grown its way into a thin trail that lead from his abdomen to his pelvis. His face split in half, the wide-grinning boy curling the hairs into knots around his fingers. At first, it felt like wires entangled in one another and then, it had felt comforting. He had photographed the moment into his mind and titled it: _puberty_ , and; _joy_.

Later, he decided to to show Stiles. To him it seemed to be an okay idea, perfect in fact. Because, _he’s my bestfriend, I tell him everything._

So, when the sun started to set and his mother was called in for an extra shift at Beacon Memorial, Scott and Stiles propped up from their before slouching physiques. 

“What did you want show me, again?” Stiles asked, his right hand digging into a packet of old chocolate kisses - Melissa had bought that for the cake she planned to make for Scott’s birthday months ago, but… 

Scott crawled in front of Stiles, his teeth on full display for Stiles to see the wonderful, and slightly lopsided, rows of marble white beauties. He nearly counted Scott’s canines from molars, and whatever else until Scott’s hand reached to tug at his own shirt. Stiles squinted at him, brows sticking together. Scott was still grinning. Then, his shirt was off. “Give me your hand,” he demanded from Stiles. Because even with his shirt off, the brim of Scott’s pants hid the patch well enough to startle his best friend. 

Surprisingly, Stiles didn’t utter word - confused and frightened, a good mix of the two - he simply followed Scott’s orders. It was a fairly odd switch of alpha status between the pair. When Stiles’ hand slipped into Scott’s grip, he was pulled forward, over Scott and into his lap. Stiles created a mental image and captioned it: _thank god our parents aren’t here._

Scott, grinning as wide as the sky itself, lead his best friend’s hand down the brim of his pants. Stiles was pale. Then with a gasp: “What is that?” He pulled Scott’s pants off, the elastic waist band stuck to Scott’s knees and looked down at his best friend’s crotch. A small patch of pure black hair sparkling on the caramel skin of a twelve year old boy. As amused as Scott was, Stiles was bewildered. He thought to himself: _how?_

Scott giggled underneath his weight, pushing Stiles further down into his lap and after a brief moment giggles turned to gulps. Together both boys compartmentalized: _shit!_ And, Scott: _maybe he didn’t notice how hard it was._

But, Stiles: _noticed._

They were just two, young boys alone in a house. Best friends.

⚓

**Present day...**

  
A yellow blur of feathers came to Scott's view, a canary bird darting through the sky as if it were in a hurry to escape the touch of the earth. Scott was as well. He was pedalling the chains of his bike until the sound of rattling began to dissipate with the noise of the forest, his hearing hyperfocused on one thing in particular: howling. Not just any howling, but the howling of a beta that he never would have suspected to hear from. And like a yellow canary darting away from Beacon Hills, he felt like if he pedaled fast enough he might just fall off the face of the earth before the moon pops out from the sockets of the sky. Because, well, Scott hated himself for what he did. But, he had no other choice. Stiles was going to die. _Now_ , he thought to himself, _at least he can live... **even if he hates me.**_

In the center of the sky a soundless chirp marked the sunrise, and Scott looked up for a moment to see the bird that had been darting so fast but it was gone. He thought: _if it had to be at least one of us_.

Deaton’s office smelled of pain, it made Scott grimace. But, this wasn’t just any sort of scent, or any sort of pain. It was internal. He could tell from how the bitter nickel odor that disguised itself with a rancid overcoat. He let his bicycle drop to the pavement, it set off a clangor of clanking. _Ring, ring **ring!**_ He was rushing, his ears pierced forward still in hyperfocus. He was listening to the sounds from within, the familiar voice of his best friends with the unfamiliar sound of whining side-by-side. 

The door to the animal clinic was split open, signs of struggle all over the front entrance. Scott fixed his hearing. “Where is he? I need to see him, he’s probably worried,” Stiles was asking, and Lydia was there to respond. 

“He’s on his way, Stiles.”

Scott stepped inside, his boots barely leaving a thump to the floor, but Stiles still gasped at the sound - he had super hearing now, too. 

“Is that him?” he asked Lydia immediately, and Scott could hear her heartbeat falter. 

“Stiles your eyes!”

“What about them?”

Scott was in the same room then, watching them stare at one another strangely. He could see the glow seeping off of Stiles eyes, the illuminant colour straying away from its typical hazel hue. 

“They’re blue,” Scott said. His heart slipping into an uncomfortable pattern as he thought about it. Stiles looked at him, eyes bulging slightly out of his sockets. Everyone knew why: _Allison._ But, everyone knew: _it was the nogitsune, not Stiles_. Everyone except for Stiles chose to believe it, too. No, he was convincing himself that he, himself, had killed someone... **innocent.**

He steared his glowing eyes away from Scott, hiding behind an invisible wall of shame. Scott could smell that same scent take over the room: **self-loathing**. He wanted to run to Stiles, tug him against his chest and hold him still for ever but he knew Stiles would push him away. And with his new strength he’d be able to as well.  
“I’m going to take him home to stay with me for now, Lydia, I’ll text you,” Scott said, his voice almost a hoarse whisper, just sad enough to send chills down Stiles’ spine. 

She nodded, patted Stiles, and turned to the door. A sympathetic smile exchanged between her and Scott. 

“Would you like to drive the jeep, or should I? I don’t have my motorbike, only a bicycle.”

“What happened to your bike?”

“I snapped it in half.” He swallowed down his hesitation after the words spilled out. Stiles turned to look at him again, eyes big and blue.


	2. Quietus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> **To those whom I love**  
>  Thank you for following this story. I try hard to update as frequently as possible.

**Several hours before...**

The thing is he didn't have another option. In his list of things to do, the ink had spilled beyond the margins and filled pages all asking one simple question - if it could be a question - **_Stiles?_** And, that pseudo question had become everyone's favorite name to utter. When the moon rose blood coloured and bright from the splatter of a crimson from Allison's demise, everyone uttered the name. Though to be honest, it was more of a word than a name at this point. Conclusively, Scott didn't have any other option. 

He had spent his last few waking days devising a plan with Kira's mother, discussing how "wolves and foxes don't get along," and avoiding the look Kira made whenever the riddle was hissed out loud. But, the riddle was right, and there was one thing he could do. Come the night Stiles - the nogitsune - came close enough to Scott's baring fangs, he would slash a clean bite through his neck. Then, he would pray. This was the plan. It was the only plan he had the time and the strength to now do. 

The downfall of everything being when Scott glimpsed at the Dark Fox he could only see his best friend. Perhaps, a bit worn out, tired and pulled apart but with all that has happened before that made sense to him, it's not the first time that Stiles was cursed to bare insomnia for awhile. No, Scott remembers vaguely of the year his mother died. Stiles' favourite pillow was suddenly as hard as rocks, his blanket scratchy and unwanted. The night sky and lowering sun became the pet peeve that Stiles hated as much as the stars were endless. Scott remembers how he climbed through his window one night, worried about Stiles and tucked himself into the _scratchy_ blanket Stiles distanced himself from. He threw his arm around his best friend only to feel his cold pale skin sting against his touch. Fortunately, when someone needed him Scott was persistent and he held on to Stiles. And he stayed awake, have it one eye barely survived through the night, but he stayed up to make sure Stiles was okay and to his surprise, his best friend fell asleep. Stiles fell asleep stuck inside of Scott's embrace - youngsters, still - and it didn't even matter to Scott that his mother would lecture him about sneaking out across Beacon Hills so late at night. Because... **Stiles needed him**.

Stiles needed him now, too. His pack was broken, cut to pieces by a trickster spirit who didn't understand the lengths Scott would go for his best friend. And this night was one example; starting with: 

A yell shook the room apart, the whelp of a banshee breaking down the cement walls around everyone - "Allison!"

Subsequently, a tear rolled down the young hunter's father's face, his gun loaded and ready to avenge. 

A young girl trapped in her former lover's arms, his brown eyes turning pink and misky. She tried to tell him not to cry, that everything was alright. But, the words halted as she leaped to take her late mother's hand and followed her to wherever her new journey opted to take her. 

The congress of Onis dissipated into shadowy dust, their afterglow barely grasping the surface of reality. 

A whine followed a whelp. A coyote followed a wolf. An alpha rolled away from the dead body in his hands. Strings tucking harshly at his open heart. His lungs filling with darkness. 

A sacrifice followed a responsibility. And, a warning came true but, a pack came in two. All their heads rang with it, this anti-sensation, a paining numbness. It was as if the oxygen leaked from their bodies, and their heads were sipping up dry air. 

Scott's eyes were shut tight, held together by this darkness. But, his list of things to do traced his memory, and he could hear it now, too. His entire life masked with suffering, the beast inside him threw out all its power. A hyperfocused, flexed ear away, the nogitsune held Lydia by her arms, struggling to hold her still. Another banshee cry came through the walls, more cement drifting away. Scott was on his feet, his teeth sharp and huge and too many canines growing to count. He took exactly seven strides to meet them, the walk of a True Alpha. No hesitation - _that_ came after - just a growl. A growl that split the place in half, a growl that tucked at the blending spirits of Stiles and the Nogitsune. For a moment, it wasn't the nogitsune that watched Scott chase after him, it was Stiles. _**Aargh!**_

Unadmittedly, the bite was good. Scott felt it, the primal rage and pleasure. His teeth sunk into Stiles' flesh and he tasted everything. The pain that seeped through his body, the strife, the blood and sugar, the darkness adrift. He bit harder, a mix of tastes poking at his tongue. There was a familiar chill that went through his spine, fast and mighty like that of full moon high, and then there was an electric charge that numbed his teeth - two mixes of things bound together by a bite. But most importantly, Scott could feel the maleficent thing inside his best friend dying, burning away. He tasted rubber and ash. It was only until the humanity inside himself tugged at his broken heart that he stopped. Stiles' body crashed into Scott's arms, nearly hitting the floor. And with a tear in the Alpha's eyes, he watched the velvet colours paint his beta's body.

Whatever happened next stays blurry to Scott. He can memorialize helping Stiles get into Chris' vehicle, making him promise to get his best friend safely to Deaton. He thinks he told Chris that he was sorry, that he tried his best and he thinks he remembers Chris holding him, his limbs shaking, his teeth filled with his best friend's bright red blood. And maybe - definitely - he held Allison in his hands after, when everyone was gone and understood that Scott wanted to be with her alone. Isaac stayed, however, watching. Until they took her to Beacon Memorial together, where she was declared dead because Scott just needed to hear someone else say it.

And the entire world was numb. 

A buzz came from his pocket, his blood-stained fingers reached in to grab his phone. A text from Lydia: **Stiles is healing. How are you doing?**

He inhaled. He realised he stopped breathing.. 

With an awkward twist of his body, there was Isaac, pale and motionless on the bench. His heart was pulled around his thorax again, painful strings doing painful things. "Have you seen my keys?"

Isaac looked up at him, something triggering in his eye - a tear - another one. "You threw out your keys after you tore your motorbike apart, Scott." 

No memory.

"I have bicycle in the old storage unit here, can you get home by yourself?" Isaac nodded. 

  


⚓

**Present day...**

  
Scott parked Stiles' jeep on the road fore his house, holding the keys firmly in his hands while he lead his best friend upstairs. He could still feel the coldness wafting from Stiles' body like a senseless breeze, it was threatening and worrying altogether. Scott felt the urge to warm him, hold him in his arms again and protect him like he did when his mother passed. Except now, the urge was filled with a necessity, a yearning want that was unveiled by what they've been through - or the fact that, Stiles was his beta; he belonged to him, now. 

"Can you take me to see my dad, tomorrow? I'm sure he's worried out of his mind." Stiles asked, the intentional guilt and anxiety forming an unfamiliar coat around his character. Or, maybe Scott forgot how Stiles used to sound. 

He didn't respond, simply watched as Stiles climbed the stairs to his room and followed swiftly behind. 

"Scott, I need you to promise me." And they halted. Stiles too afraid to look at Scott but just brave enough to persist. Scott didn't realise he had been so quiet the entire time. 

"Of course." 

"And - 

Scott focused on Stiles's heartbeat suddenly rising. 

"- And, don't let me sleep alone tonight. Everything is so cold." There was break in his best friend's voice. It was practically soundless but Scott felt the dip in his chest, the way Stiles body wanted to fall to the floor and just keep falling. So, he let his urges take over and rushed to hold Stiles, wrapping him in his arms. Stiles was like a frore island when Scott touched him, there was rawness to his skin, it was in pain and healing side-by-side, and it stung Scott. He pressed harder, allowing himself to let the hurt seep through Stiles and into him. His body lighting up with black veins, skin growing grey. He did it without letting Stiles realise, holding him protectively in his arms and resting his nose into the back of his best friend's neck. Whispering...

"Whatever you need, Stiles."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goodluck to all those who leave kudos.


	3. Nice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We all needed this chapter for reasons I do not care to explain.

**Years ago...**

“No, I’m just going to look at her for the entire time,” Stiles hissed, “Of course, I’m going to kiss her, dumbass.” Scott shook his head at Stiles, his brows sewing together with the ruffling hairs on the tips of them. They had been talking about Stiles developing the ash trails of guts to work up his way to his one and only Lydia Martin, the cold-hearted siren - for lack of a better word - of Beacon Hills, and ask her out.

“Yeah, right. She’s not going to notice you enough to even say yes.”

“Thanks for believing in me!” 

Scott scoffed, “It’s not that, it’s just – Lydia! We’re nothing to girls like her, and plus,” Scott began to calculate, brows still stuck together, “Do you even know how to kiss someone?” Stiles made a strangled noise, a scoff and a half – a melodramatic whelp, according to Scott – “Of course, asshole.”

Scott’s face stretched into an amused smile, regarding Stiles with the usual sense of ‘hmm’ attached to his eyes. “Prove it.”

“How?”

“I don’t know, maybe – 

Stiles jumped toward him, hands on his Scott’s jaw in awkward swing of muscles. He tried to pull the boy toward him but Scott didn’t budge. In fact, he barely moved a smidge. “What’re you doing?”

“I’m trying to prove it to you.”

“How’s that going?”

“You’re as firm as a brick wall, Scott, maybe even just as oblivious. It’s not my fault!”

Scott chuckled to himself, Stiles’ hands still gripped to his face trying to pull him closer. He gave him another one of those stares that he does, and Stiles could even feel the humming ‘hmm’ buzz in his brain. 

Scott’s arm shot behind Stiles back, tucking his waist into his firm hold and swapped them around. Now, Stiles was closer to the wall, a clear path for Scott to push him forward. Then, **thwack,** Stiles hit it, head first and Scott chuckled again. 

“This is how you prove it.” He motioned forward and Stiles went pale, like he normally does and Scott’s seen that same look over and over again. His hands dropped from his best friend’s jaw and onto his chest, part of him pushing Scott away and another part clinging to the material of his shirt. A state of uncertainty. Scott’s nose poked at Stiles’, just as unsure, but he was the incessant type - his actions indelible. He pressed on, their lips grasping in a sensitive touch – wet, and strange and new. It lasted in a still shot frame for about half a minute before Scott remembered to do… _more?_ He shifted, added a dab of tongue and Stiles melted in his mouth. For keep sake, Stiles captioned this: _nice._ Then, unexpectedly, Scott moved his leg, his knee lodging between Stiles’ thighs to hold him steady. Both boys considered never parting, but then that would be wrong, right? Scott pulled away, his teeth scraping the skin on Stiles’ bottom lip as if to say: _I didn’t really want to stop._ He moved his leg away.

Stiles was pale as marble, face struck with the most confused teenage expression one could ever summon. Scott looked… okay. But, a façade was something he could easily put up to protect anyone. It was his thing, Stiles used to say, to be there for every one and make sure all is good. 

“What cologne do you use, you smell nice?” Stiles asked – or more correctly, diverted… **escaped.** Scott smiled at him stupidly. 

“My mom buys it.”


	4. What Kind Of Fox

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The answers to all your questions lie below this line...  
> _

Hesitation. It was an awful thing, suffused with animalism, a thirst that clung to the hollow space in one’s throat. Scott felt it. Like Stiles’ skin skimming over his upper arms, his chest and his shoulder jabbing lightly against his jaw; He wanted to move, fix his hands and his legs because nothing made sense right now. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, limbs and all. All he knew was Stiles was cold, very cold – in fact, it poured from him like a whirl of wind. It bothered him, and if it wasn’t that it was his heart. It was a machine hidden beneath his fragile body, pumping and pumping. His ears filled with thuds, loud thuds. Stiles’ breathing felt wrong too, nearly – asphyxiated or _squelched_ perhaps.

Scott felt his own body surrender, frozen with his hands floating apprehensively above the cold boy’s body. His thought was fixated on something else. This has happened before. He remembered. It happened when Stiles’ mother passed and when he and Stiles tried swallowing bottles of liquor, experimenting on Scott’s werewolf metabolism. It hadn’t worked, but Stiles still fell asleep in Scott’s embrace because: _you’re a walking furnace, Scotty._

He remembered how Stiles insisted he hold him tighter. He took it to heart, and pressed his anxious arms around his beta. The strangled breathing halted. Stiles was still as cold as ice, burning with an electric sizzle of cold-fire. Scott shifted his fingers over Stiles body, rubbing warmth into every erect hair on his arms.

When he felt all was good, he pressed his face down behind Stiles, nuzzling into the back of his head where his scent was strong: self-loathing nickel and that strong and alerting feeling that runs up and down a person’s nostrils when they sniff frozen air.

A familiar buzz vibrated. Scott recognized his phone, the texts coming through. He pulled a hand away from Stiles to mute it instead of reading them. Then rushed to re-embrace Stiles, waiting to feel his temperature rise. However, there was no such luck at first. Somewhere amidst Scott’s endless brushing and the warmth that fell from him, Stiles motioned back. He pressed his mass against Scott’s body, greedily. Scott held tighter. After that, he fell asleep, arms held over the littler man while their breaths started to match.

Though, somewhere behind the watching eyes of the walls peering around them, a moon was swelling in its threatening supernatural glow. A _fuller_ version of it was coming.

The sun rose only a pair of hours later, rays of light tickling the intertwined boys. Scott heard a muffling noise when he woke up, Stiles asking him something. “Hmm?”

“I asked if you could turn down your phone, please?” Stiles repeated, “It’s been making that static noise all morning.” Scott fixed his hearing and – nothing.

He allowed his eyes to ogle at Stiles, half his vision blurred behind his head and the other noticing how Stiles had pulled a blanket between his waist and Scott’s arm. He was distancing himself. The room still smelled of nickel.

Scott reached down for his phone, it was still set to silent. He turned to look at Stiles again, questioningly. He wanted to ask what he was hearing but he didn’t think Stiles would entertain a conversation more than he already did. He looked down at his phone, letting the notifications load. One from Derek, regarding something he claimed important. Another from Kira, asking Scott how he was. Lydia left several, all badly punctuated and filled with unwanted words about Allison. There was a memorial later. A short text from Derek again, saying, **‘Call me as-soon-as-possible.’** And, Chris with a warning of the pending full moon.

“We have to go.”

Stiles shot up from his place, eyes worried. He was staring at Scott but not into his eyes, just his jaw, his lips… anything but his eyes.

“What’s happening?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Scott, what’s happening?” Scott shook his head at him with that slow-paced notion he did so often now. Whenever he didn’t want to ruin something.

“I’m taking you to see your dad, remember?” But Stiles could tell when he was lying, or keeping things away from him. His tell: _he cared too much._ It poured out of Scott like coldness did Stiles. “Are you hungry?”

Stiles nodded, his head wringing low and away from Scott’s sight. A familiar tug at his heart went off.

“Stiles,” Scott whispered.

No reply.

“Stiles look at me, please.”

It was a plead. Both boys were sitting lazily on Scott’s bed like many times before except now Scott was begging for Stiles to just look at him. Stiles didn’t budge.

“I can’t, man.”

“Why?”

“I killed Allison – she was your Anchor.” It was the brusque manner of which Stiles said it that created the palpable feeling in the room. Scott could almost taste it, the harshness combusting with Stiles’ guilt. Both their stomachs twirled into knots.

“You _didn’t_ kill her, and I am my _own anchor._ ”

“Yes, but you loved her.”

“I love you, just as much as I did her.” Scott said, words swathed in a murmur.

Stiles’ heart made that same thudding sound, again. Scott was listening to it, “You and the nogitsune are not the same.” He fought the urge to look over at Scott, to stare into his doughy eyes and watch them melt into the happy world. The need burned with a ravenous lust.

“There was a sword inside you and I watched,” His voice broke, throat falling apart – words struggling to rise, “And I watched from behind the bars of my own mind.”

“Stiles, it’s over now.” Scott let his hand find a soft place on Stiles’ thigh, a sympathetic squeeze. “Everyone is safe. You are safe.”

“Am I?” And now Stiles found the brevity to look at Scott, to let his gaze pierce through the brown corneas that he wore. Scott curved his lips as if to ask: _what do you mean?_

“Scott, I’m not just talking about being alive. I’m talking about being a _Werewolf_ , and – I’m freezing, I thought it would stop but it hasn’t. It hurts, Scott. To make it worse, I can’t stare at you because I _killed_ Allison and everyone loved her, especially you. I don’t care, nogitsune or not. I had that thing inside me. It was making me do all those things – cause all that… _**hurt.**_ And, Scott, to top it all off: I have this _veracity_ in me that is somehow connected to you but I can’t tell if it’s because you bit me or if it’s because I actually…”

“Actually what?”

Stiles fixed himself. “We should go.”

So, they did.

Scott didn’t want to push Stiles, he didn’t want to ruin anything. He was still shocked he got as much out of Stiles as he did. Not to mention, they were both keeping things from each other. It was that very fact that made being in a jeep with each other turn into a barrelling rollercoaster of nervous glances and deep swallows. Mainly from Scott. Stiles was battling his own inner war, still reeking of nickel and that icy sting of – **self-loathing** , trying his best never to look Scott right in his eyes.

The jeep came to a slow stop, pulling over in front of the Beacon Hills Police Station. Scott looked over at Stiles, watching the guilt spill into his pale, flushed cheeks and how he didn’t know what was going to happen.

“I’ll be right here for you,” Scott said.

Stiles nodded, slowly. He stepped out of the car, fingers twiddling together. And even though he was far away enough from Scott now, he could hear his heavy breathing like it was right in his ear. And, static.

 

 

⚓

  
His dad’s office was musky, hidden with an invisible cloud of despair and grief. Something familiar in Beacon Hills as of late. Stiles was drifting about the room, filling the space with himself – a version of himself that seemed controlled enough to trust.

The door clicked. Stiles jolted to see. And he’s not sure if it was a look of disbelief, shock or overwhelming relief but his father’s mouth slid into an o-shaped space, a jaw-dropped expression of surprise. Noah leaped into his son’s arms, and pulled him into his embrace tightly.

He felt the whimper of an ‘Oh, God, Thank You’ against his dad’s lungs. A part of him started to smell less like nickel and… death. However, his father pulled away, his own skin crawling at the touch of his son. “Son, you’re freezing!”

Stiles nodded, his eyes darting from either end of the room. “It’s kind of been a thing with me lately.”

“Does Scott know?”

Stiles nodded, stomach tightened – he thought: _probably._

“Dad,” Stiles tried, shuffling his feet back until he could lean on the desk centre of the room, his father standing expectantly in front of him, “how much do you know about how we… ended everything.” He couldn’t choose his words right.

His father sighed. “Scott told me everything, in detail too.” And a moment later he added, “He cares about you, a lot.” Stiles couldn’t do anything but nod, understandingly. He could feel Scott listening to them, trying to make sure everything goes smoothly, protecting everyone – again. He could also feel Scott’s warmth – from this far – almost as if they were wrapped up in each other like the night before, almost as if Stiles never got out of the jeep. It was strange, he felt like he was everywhere at once – and freezing.

“I care about him too.”

There was a stillness then, a lingering expectation that darkened the distance between him and his father. His dad coughed. “Maybe we should go get something to eat later, when the day is over. You, Scott, Me. What do you say?”

Stiles took a while but he agreed, “Sure thing.”

“I take it you’re going to Allison’s funeral too.” And, Stiles gave his father a look that read of bemusement.

His dad parted his lips to speak but the door creaked open and shut before he could, Scott stepped in, hurryingly. “Uh, sorry – it’s Derek. He says, that, he thinks that he saw… **Kate,** ” Scott’s explanation was cut in pieces, “Kate Argent.”

“Wh— how?” Was Stiles’ go to answer, a rocky string of words kneaded by – that same bemusement – puzzlement. With it, a cold breeze shot through the room. Papers lifted from the desk as Stiles propped up, and window bars began to rattle. “What’s happening? Is this her?” Scott and Noah stood idly, staring at Stiles with red-shot cheeks and bulging faces. A tunnel of wind encircled the beta like a tornado, and when Stiles tried to calm himself, it simply picked up.

“Stiles!” Scott tried to push forward, reach out for him but –

Like a waft of air, a hard force threw Scott across the room, into the Office window. The station lit up with alert officers, everyone readying their weapons. Scott stood quickly, thrusting toward Stiles again – Somewhere in Stiles' head, he captioned it: _unable to just give up, and just give up, Scotty. We should all just give up._ Although, he saw the look on his best friend, the look of hanker and concern for Stiles. His eyes shifted red as he came forward but there was a lack in them, a dull glow that pleaded for mercy, it barely lit up. Stiles' stomach tightened, again.

Scott leaped to him still, after all the failed attempts and the thrashing against the wall. Stiles was caught in this mini-cyclone. He was staring at Scott – his alpha – wondering: _how much better would your life be without me, you would still be human. People would still be alive, and you wouldn’t have to try this hard._ Because, in a way, it was true. Scott would have never had been dragged from his room at the middle of the night to hunt down a halved, partly werewolf body only for him to be left unsupervised in a forest and bitten.

The wind tunnel shattered. Stiles was kept unharmed and puzzled. He could see the azure coloured light that faded from his own eyes – they were aglow, blue and bright. The wind wasn’t Kate, it was him. He looked around then, to see what had happened. His dad was helping up Scott, who was bruised and weak, and there were things scattered all over the police station. Maybe a bubble of words popped in his head, maybe an accusation against himself: _nogitsune or not, I cause suffering._

“I think we need to go see Kira, and _definitely_ her mother,” Scott admitted as he got helped up, he pressed his torn shirt over his wound, not wanting Stiles to see. Too late.

“The fox girl?” Noah asked, scrunching his nose. “Why?”

Scott looked at Stiles, eyes flashing a dull red colour. “I don’t think Stiles is _just Werewolf_.”

A frigid silence captured all three of them, until Scott added, “That fiery aura that protects Kira as a Kitsune, it’s all over you Stiles… just _different_.”

“What do you mean – **_different?_** ”

 

 

⚓

  
Noshiko put down a tray, wooden board placed upon it. It was a strange design, and yet very familiar to Scott and Stiles. Kira noticed it too, and she stole a glance at Scott. The board was made from oak, and mountain ash. One could smell it. At the very middle, a large triskelion was drawn.

“Werewolves like yourself, Scott, have a symbol quite like this one. It represents the chain of power that falls and rises from Alpha to Omega. Foxes are not so different.” She looked at Stiles as she finished, her eyes full of speculation. Or, focus. The three of them couldn’t decide, so they all kept watching Kira’s mother, patiently. “See, a Kitsune is wild – they run along the Earth without following or breaking the rules and commands of Inari, the goddess of foxes. A wild Kitsune, like both Myōbu, the good, and Nogitsune, the bad, use the conditions of their environment to communicate. Like wolves, howl.” She held the wooden board to her chest, the triskelion pointed at the three teenagers.

“Let me explain more concisely.” She pressed her finger to the top of the triskelion, the first and highest spiral. “Myōbu are Alphas, they serve the Inari, guided by the Earth and carrying around richness. They are pure, celestial even.” Her fingers moved to the next spiral, “Nogitsune are omegas, expelled by their need to break the Inari’s trust.” Finally, the last. “Between it all, live wild Kitsunes. They live for themselves, unconfused by the pull of the Inari and walk amongst the earth hidden by their power. Kira is a thunder Kitsune, when she runs through this world her tails rub together to bring storms and energy.”

Everyone was quiet, still. They continued to watch as Noshiko placed the triskelion down. A part of Scott began to ease then – maybe he was frightened by the triskellion. Or, the idea of it. The idea of something else he needed to protect Stiles from.

“Stiles, I believe you are one of both. Though, it is rare that foxes and wolves get along, it seems your strength has left the supernatural world to redefine a small fraction of itself. You are hybrid.”

Scott’s mouth quivered.

“But, the bite was supposed to kill the nogitsune. Is it still alive?” Kira asked, quickly, it seemed like she was afraid to give Scott a chance to speak. Something was strange there. Stiles picked up on it, labelled it: _a conversation for later._

“Yes, but,” she thought about it for a second, remembering how Stiles used to be. He was daring, sarcastic and hyperactive – as unstoppable as the urgency to save everyone Scott had, “perhaps Stiles was a trickster from birth. The transformation is meant to reflect the person who is bitten.”

They were silent again. Scott had put his hand on Stiles’ arm, protectively. No one took notice except for Noshiko – for everyone else it was… natural.

“I think the bite may have rid the Darkness, but not the true fox within Stiles. And now, he is one of both. A Kitsune who seems to be of wind from what you tell me.”

Scott stepped forward but there was a struggling noise he made as he did. Stiles remembered how he flung Scott across the room and how he had been hiding his pain the rest of the day. But now that he was aware of it again, he could feel it in his own chest, the hurting wound pulsing and trying to heal. Scott came to a still, then asked. “And his… aura?”

She glanced at Stiles swiftly and then focused on Scott. “He is protected by two spirits. That is why it looks so different to you because you have never seen a werewolf with a hoshi-no-tama.”

“A what?”

“Hoshi-no-tamas are the life source of Kitsune. They were once balls that we struggled to protect from Samurai-hunters centuries ago, but now, they are part of us like the draw to paranormal haunting this town.”

Stiles still hadn’t said anything about it, he hasn’t even dared to move. He was afraid a brandish or spin would send everything around him twirling. And, he could still hear something of ringing or static at the curve of his lobes. He squinted, made a wry face.

“What about the full moon tonight?” Kira popped out the question. Scott’s chest heaved, he had forgotten about that, despite the warning text from Allison’s dad – _Allison_. Her funeral was tomorrow, he remembered.

Stiles twisted his neck to look at Scott, the alpha noticed – his senses spinning whenever Stiles moved just an inch. He thought he said something already. “I’ll have that under control.”

Stiles was uneasy but he decided to trust Scott.

“Stiles,” Noshiko broke through, “you’re hearing something, aren’t you?” Stiles darted to look her in the eyes, his shoulder pealing from Scott’s grip.

“Yes, static. Why? Is that bad? Is it Void?”

She smiled. He had a look of worry smeared on his pale complexion. “Do not worry about it. That’s the Inari, if it’s there it means you are closer to good than bad. Inari can only reach the foxes with a sense of who they are.”

Only then Stiles could admit it: _Kira’s mother had made everything better. Just a bit._ He settled down, stomach unwinding. “Oh, good.”

In the corner, there were incense burning, the smoke started to whirl in tiny circles. Stiles regarded it hesitantly. “I take it that’s going to happen from now on too.”

Noshiko grinned at him. Stiles thought that a part of her enjoyed having another fox in Beacon Hills.

“Don’t worry, you’ll find yourself a way to safeguard your tails from rubbing together. Like Kira and her weapons. The magic you register is maintained easier then.”

“Perfect. I have to carry around ninja stars or something so that my magical hybrid tails don’t scratch and itch.” His voice was suddenly easier. Scott choked, coughing on the needed laugh. It was the first time he heard the old Stiles speak, with the same tone the old Stiles used to speak. The first time a hint of sarcasm and comedy rained down on him from the person he wanted it from the most. A hint of normal rising from the ashes of this town. But, Stiles shivered. He was still cold as ice.

“That won’t last either, Stiles. The coldness it’s from the Void. Now that he is dead, his Darkness is trying to seep from your pores. If you shift under the full moon, it will speed up the process.” There was a look of relief on Scott and something of sympathy with Kira. With Stiles, his stomach was tightened just like before. Although, ease was beginning to shimmer down on everything, nothing made sense as well. Stiles questioned: _Hybrids? Tails? Hoshi-whats?_

Yet, he thanked Noshiko anyway and somehow, in his head, he felt her want to hug him but he also felt her resist.

“I should get Stiles ready for the full moon tonight, there’s only so much of the day left.” Kira motioned to him, her hand almost aiming to touch Scott’s but he moved away without noticing, wrapping his own fingers with Stiles’ instead. “Let’s go.”

Kira frowned but swallowed it down. “Do you need help?”

Scott didn’t bother to turn around and face her, he just muttered the words. “I think it’s best if I just take care of this one alone.”

He and Stiles were at the door when she whispered, “Call me.”

The door shut and the beta on Scott’s side had questions. He had questions about Scott and Kira, about Kate, Allison’s service, and Auras. But, his body was cold and the static in his ears was ringing louder than before. “Scott,” Stiles voice croaked, standing outside Kira’s house. “Tonight, do not hold back on the restraints.”

The alpha looked at him, Stiles’ eyes had already lit up with that chemical blue and its glow was so strong Scott could swear he heard it buzzing. “You sure?” Still watching Stiles.

The beta sneered, his lips separating and his teeth sharpening. His eyes were glowing so bright now, he swore the entire sky lit up cyan. The afternoon light brightening. “Yes,” and Stiles’ voice was echoing like it were two creatures speaking at once; Werewolf and a Kitsune, “I’m one-hundred-percent sure.” An orchestra of bashing sounds broke their gazes. The wind had blown a car over.

Scott swallowed: _this was going to be twice as difficult._

 

 

⚓

**Years ago...**

  
When Scott was twelve, a lot happened. Most of his body had become spectral and foreign. He spent his time in the shower, rubbing his hands through the patches of new and alien hairs growing on his body. At night, the latter of his exploration centered on the idea that the compartment between his thighs was starting to do things. He called it: _inflating_.

It wasn’t just Scott’s body that was shifting, it was his mind too. His life was somehow pushing him into this awkward year where pieces of himself either got lost or transfigured. He had tried to talk to Stiles about it but after he showed Stiles his new wire-like hairs, his best friend just wanted to come over and brush his fingers across it. Which was starting to be problematic because when they did that, Scott would begin to _inflate_ and both boys knew that the _inflation_ was somewhat wrong. In some way, it was wrong. At least, he thinks. What he knows is Stiles knows more than he does but doesn’t talk to him about it. Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe if they both continued to ignore it, things would feel less wrong. Maybe Scott was wrong to think that. What he knew _was_ wrong was liking the idea of Stiles coming over to feel something that belonged to his changing body. And, keeping it from his mother.

That was definitely: _wrong_. He didn’t have time to think about it, though. He was rubbing deodorant on to his pits and rushing to open his window for his best friend. Stiles was coming over to feel his foreign niceties and to prove to Scott that he was changing as well. Apparently, Stiles had found his own new and strange patch of hairs dispersing this morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vampires like myself feed off feedback, it's more arousing.


	5. Fill The Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Sciles were a poem it would be in the format of those roses are red and violets are blue kind of nonsense.

“I'm so sorry,” Scott whispered, pulling onto the leather strand, tightening it around Stiles’ wrist. Stiles was staring at the floor, compliant but changing. His eyes were large, blue and filled with a buzzing energy. 

 

“It's fine Scotty,” Stiles purred back, gritting his teeth and straying his head away from Scott further.

 

The loft door swung open, loud bashing footsteps and clapping noises pulled into an ensemble. It was Peter. Stiles could smell it, as could Scott. Although, the new abilities that came with being bitten were fresh and uncharted for the beta, Peter’s musky scent rolled off of him with severe strength. 

 

“Where's Derek?” Scott hissed, eyes flaring a dull red. 

 

Peter sneered, “I was wondering that myself.” 

 

Scott’s face widened, lips pursed. Peter recognized it as something teenagers did when they didn't know what to think. 

 

“He's missing, _Scotty_ ,” Peter snarled, and Stiles growled silently to himself as he mocked his Alpha’s nickname. 

 

“What do you mean he's missing?” 

 

“I mean he's missing. How else do you want to interpret that?” 

 

A loud roar shook the loft, light bulbs popped from the ceiling and darkness overtook the building. A chill swirled around all three of them, the wind howling. The only thing that could be seen was the glow from Stiles’ eyes, and soft curve of Scott’s cheek as he watched his best friend growl. He hadn't finished putting on the restraints but it wouldn't matter now. 

 

“How tight is that leash?” Peter asked, sounding frightened and vulnerable. 

 

“Not tight enough,” Stiles purred at him, then stood up on his feet, the cuffs on his wrists be damned, they slid off easily. The wind howled louder and Scott could swear he felt his feet slipping. 

 

“Yeah, I'm out,” And Peter turned for the door but the wind hurled him away, the howling getting louder and louder. The windows began to shake, and chairs and tables creaked as they were pulled across the hard floor. Peter landed on his back, on the ground. A cry of pain sent shivers down Scott’s spine. 

 

“Stiles, please stop. Focus on me,” Scott pushed, let his hands grip to Stiles’, and he felt claws dig into his palms. “What are you doing?” 

 

Stiles let his claws grow full length in Scott’s flesh. His eyes filled with a hazy blue gleam, teeth flaring. 

 

“What I do best Scott,” He replied, his voice drawn into what consisted of a soft whisper, a humming curl of syllables. It sounded seductive and sadistic, “I'm hurting you. That's all I'm good at.” 

 

Scott cried out, blood spilling dark and thick from his palms. 

 

“That's not true!” 

 

“It is!” And Peter’s groaning body was flung into air, smacking against the roof with an awful noise. “I smell it on you, the pain, the grief, the regret. I didn't mean for it, Scott.” 

 

“Stiles, it wasn't you. Stiles, please.” 

 

“You know nothing, Scott. You don't know how I felt, tearing you apart with that thing,” He was talking about the sword he stabbed his Alpha with while the nogitsune had the better of him. His eyes were as full as the moon, power seeping from them with thick pulses. “I enjoyed it.” 

 

Scott's body went rigid hearing the words, he knew they weren't really his, not all his, but the fact that it came from him with so much hate in his voice. It was the fuel that burned the darkness that flooded Scott’s lungs. On his face, a look of despair and… suddenly, Stiles reeked of nickel, but it was so much stronger than before. It broke into the room, pulling at all the other scents and blending into Scott’s nostrils. He saw the beta’s eyes flicker a dimmer color. 

 

“M’ sorry.” A slur. Scott's palms were free and he began to heal. 

 

“It's okay.” And Stiles looked as if he was about to shout at Scott, about how it really wasn't but Scott rushed to him too quickly. He wrapped himself around Stiles, and pressed them into a cocoon, whispering it over and over again until the last sentiment slipped from his lips, “I forgive you.” 

 

The wind howled silently in the background, still violently shuddering all the loose screws in the loft. However, Scott felt a smirk creep on his cheeks. It seemed out of place, silly even but Scott felt different. This smile was perfectly placed for this moment because … Stiles was so warm. His body was firm, lean, and vibrating, heat pulsing through him. His heartbeat was a loud steady drum. Scott smiled harder. 

 

Scott let his arms slide away from Stiles’ shoulder and he found his bloody palms pressed to the beta’s cheeks. The smell of blood in both their noses. He pulled Stiles closer to him, again, “I think the worse part is over,” and their lips met. It was soft, small and precious. Different from the first kiss they shared four years ago when life was painless. This didn't fill their mouths with electricity and strawberry flavored hormones. Instead, it meant less and more and everything was okay while nothing was. And Stiles was warm, tasted of toffee and something bitter sweet. The smell of nickel washed away like water and replaced with something lemony. 

 

Scott ushered away, part of his head banging loudly that he made a mistake. Stiles’ lips still parted and bruised and pink, looked as if they didn’t want to stop kissing Scott, or that he didn’t want to speak. His eyes fluttered open and looked expectantly at Scott. They were watching each other, not sure what to do. 

 

A loud groan roared from afar. Peter was lying on the floor, in pain, trying to heal. 

 

Scott didn’t turn to regard him until Stiles broke eye contact. “I think I’ll be fine the rest of the full moon.” 

 

Scott nodded, “I’ll take you home then,” and they were still staring at each other awkwardly, expectantly, “to your house.” Stiles remembered how he hadn't seen the walls of his bedroom in weeks. He vaguely remembered how his bedroom was a mess with red string and anxiety but he couldn't familiarize the details. Then again, he wasn't focused on that right now. 

 

An idea flared through Stiles’ head, and perhaps the full moon made it so Stiles didn’t bother second guessing himself. So, his question was unexpected and sudden, which seems to be the theme of how he speaks to Scott lately. “What's wrong with you and Kira?” 

 

Scott’s face stretched into that same expression it made when Peter mentioned Derek was missing. 

 

“What do you mean-- nothing's wrong. Everything is fine,” and Scott sounded guilty. His heart pounded loudly in Stiles’ ears.

 

The beta winced like he couldn't believe Scott just tried to claim such a thing after he just kissed him instead of his girlfriend. But, Scott was quiet, almost as if he didn't get what Stiles’ twitching was trying to communicate. 

 

“Scott, why did you kiss me?” 

 

“Because,” and he thought hard on the idea, “I was happy and I remember how it felt before.” 

 

“Four years ago? You still remember?” Stiles’ cheeks started to shift shades of rosy pink. 

 

“Lately more than ever.” 

 

Stiles looked at him guiltily, “I never stopped.” And from out of nowhere, Scott thought his lips seemed too empty, too deprived. 

 

“I think I need to go speak to Kira.” 

 

  


⚓

  
**Years ago...**

 

“Does your mother buy everything?” 

 

“Just my cologne– Stiles you know that,” and somehow they were laughing at the situation. Warm blood running through their veins. Stiles licked his lips and Scott watched. 

 

“Well, I guess it's time. I'm gonna go smooch the most beautiful girl in the world and then I'm gonna run for my life from Jackson.” He stumbled from where he leaned against the wall, his pants slightly restricted, and aimed to pat Scott’s back. Scott merely flinched and chuckled as Stiles’ pat turned out to be a slap then watched as his best friend struggled to walk as nonchalant as possible out of his room, grinning. He did that. Why was he proud?


	6. Give Me Grief Wrapped In Kisses

Kira’s house lit up like a lighthouse, the streetlights outside threw limelight over it like it was the most important house in the world. Or, maybe it was the way Scott was staring. His focus had fixed onto the frames of the door like a grappling hook, immobile. He knew his heartbeat was like a thunder storm rushing through the quiet street. He hoped Kira could hear it because then _this_ would be easier.

The door swung open, a bare foot poked out from the open space. Scott’s thundering heart stopped, a small and soft thud continued faintly in the background.

“Hey,” She sauntered outside the door, closing it behind her, quietly. The look on Scott’s face held a million words and reasons, and Kira could read them clearly.

“Kira,” Scott tried, “I'm not sure how to say this.” She was a few feet away from him, still strolling toward him with a sweet and comfortable stride.

“It’s okay. I know.”

“What?”

Her eyes lit up with a flame, and Scott gazed into the Fox. “I could sense it when you were here.”

“I'm sorry.”

“It’s okay, Scott.”

Above them, the lights shifted and turned, darkness became favorable, and Scott and Kira were the only two things alight. Kira was a moment away, her fingers grazing over Scott’s face as she pulled a single tear away from his cheek. And he melted into her smile. He was reading the look she held on her face now, it was gentle, caring; it said: _I love you._

He gazed back at her with every ounce of compassion his body could muster, his sheepish smile and teary eyes were meant for her to know he loved her too.

She stepped closer, pressed a kiss onto his cheek. His tear tasted of salt as it escaped into her lips. The spotlight around them faded into the dim street as darkness enveloped everything that was real. And that was the end.

 

⚓️

  
The next day came to life with crashing waves, the low sun sitting on the clouds like a predatory eagle. A mizzle took place underneath the dark grey layers of the sky and when the rain settled in it thrashed down on the ground with anger.

Scott woke up on an empty bed, the sheets tangled over his thighs and sticky from sweat. His clothes were dispersed around the room like he had uneasily thrown them around once he returned home in tears. He looked over and stared at the shirt that hung loosely over his bed lamp.

A light emerged from under his pillow. His phone was glowing as he reached for it and held it to his gaze. The brightness of it blew at him like a bullet to a wolf and he grunted unwillingly.

A text from Kira: **I hope you're doing better. I'm happy you have Stiles. I'll see you later.**

He remembered: _Allison’s funeral._

He shifted his focus to where he had thrown a packaged suit onto his desk. The zipper lazily opened halfway. The phone in his hand made its way back underneath the heavy pillow as Scott lounged further, thinking: _Allison’s dead. Kate is back. Derek is missing. Stiles is a hybrid werewolf-kitsune._

He rested his eyes. For a moment, there was a familiar wetness on his cheeks. He didn’t want to cry, it was the one thing that was keeping his bones in place. If he were to let the droplets roll from his eyes the world might crack in half and stab at his heart one more time. So, he thought of Stiles. He let the lanky boy sneak his way into his mind like a lurking fox and when a clear image of him bloomed comfortably, it rested. A sigh of relief settled in. _It’s almost over._

 

⚓️

  
The suit fit onto his body perfectly, the black of his jacket’s wrist cuffs barely cutting his skin. On his waist, the belt slid into the empty slit like two puzzle pieces made for each other. He breathed it in, the suit smelled of sand. It was a faint scent. His phone buzzed.

 

⚓️

  
He held the stems of the bouquet in his hand, the aroma from the lilies rolling into his nostrils. His phone buzzed. He was in the car, his mother was driving. He was holding the stems of the bouquet in his hands. He captioned it: _it smells nice_. He put the bouquet down on his lap and reached for his phone. It read: **Chris Argent is calling**. Scott let it ring and buzz and vibrate. He smelled the lilies. They smelled nice.

 

⚓️

  
Scott’s face was crestfallen, his cheeks reddened from how the tears had fallen for the past night and day and his eyes were dry. So dry that the white corners bulged in bright purple colours. He felt like the lilies he was carrying, feeble. His heart was a timebomb.

 

⚓️

  
The service was beautiful. Upon the grassy and endless fields of Beacon Hills Cemetery, Allison’s mother’s burial grew vividly beside the deep hole that waited for her daughter. The rain washed down on everyone. Umbrellas were outmatched but when the water reached Allison’s coffin it seemed to stream away like it knew better than to try and fight her. She was a huntress, the best of them all. The lilies fell out of Scott’s hands. His tears were swept away in the rain. Somewhere in the flooding storm he found Stiles’ arms and crept into the embrace they held. On the hairs in his ears he heard Stiles’ voice land softly, “I’m sorry.” And for the first time it didn’t feel like Stiles blamed himself. Instead, he just wanted to be there for Scott. When the alpha pulled out of Stiles’ arms, they stared at each other. Kind stares. _Loving_ stares.

 

⚓️

  
The service was over.

 

⚓️

  
The two boys stood, out of place, by the sheriff’s car. They were waiting for Noah. Stiles’ dad had wanted to take them for dinner the first day he saw his son again, but the full moon had other plans. Now, it was over. For the most part. _Kate was back. Derek is missing_. It was almost over. Noah strolled along beside Melissa, talking, sharing stories, thanking her. It was a sweet play that was performed in front of the two boys as they waited in silence. “You two hungry?” Noah asked, Melissa’s brows followed the question and then stood idly by as the boys were trying to answer.

 

⚓️

  
Scott parked his mother’s car at the end of the parking lot, where the road bent into a new and unfamiliar street. A sign stood tall that read _Canaan: 20KM Away_ on the edge of the pavement. Beside it, a large diner was open, neon lights gleaming proudly. He saw Stiles’ jeep parked on the other side of the road.

He thought: _happiness_.

Inside, there were booths set up strategically by the windows, and tables interconnected between them. Stiles was leaning on a wooden pillar by one of the booths as his dad moved into one of the seats. Then, Stiles followed. Scott walked toward them, a smile creeping onto his face.

“There he is,” The sheriff said excitedly. Stiles twisted his gaze to watch him, a subtle hint of a grin crossed over him.

Scott sat across from Stiles and his dad, smiling happily at them both. “I'm sorry my mom couldn't make it. She's — there's an extra shift and she was called in.”

Noah waved it off, suggesting that it didn't matter and he was content. Stiles was staring at Scott, scanning.

“You're wet,” Stiles offered.

“So are you,” and they smiled at each other. Hidden messages washed over them both, subtle hints and telepathic kisses as they gazed at each other from across the table. Stiles’ knee pressed forward and touched Scott’s. Scott made a disguised frown, the disappointment of being teased with thick fabric on their legs settled in. But, they continued.

“I hope you don't mind I ordered the family meal for us,” Noah explained, watching over his son with fondness. He had missed Stiles too much to even resist uttering the words.

“Dad, that's five greasy burgers plus a large plate of fries. Come on, we talked about this.”

Noah made a strange face, lips parted as if to ask what the issue was.

“Stiles, we're celebrating,” Scott insisted, but the back of his head ached when he said it. _Allison’s dead._ He pushed the thought away and focused forward. On Stiles. He placed his arm on the table, his hand retracted for Stiles. The beta understood. Their fingers laced and their arms laid hazily on the table. If Noah noticed he didn't say anything — it didn't matter. “You're back,” and the way Scott let the words escape between his easy breath and his pinky eyes it almost made everything seem perfect. Stiles let himself believe it.

He thought: _I'm back._

“So, you boys have plans for the rest of the day?” Noah asked, his eyes glued to the special menu leaning against the condiments stand.

Scott looked at Stiles, absent minded.

“I’m going over to Scott's later. Yeah — lots of homework to catch up. That right, Scott?” He winked at Scott, waiting for him to cooperate.

“Yeah, right. Lots of homework.” And they were looking at each other, eyes and hands locked. For a brief moment, Scott sensed something familiar in the air as his best friend dusted off an impromptu excuse to go to Scott's. He didn't let it bother him, mostly because he couldn't pinpoint what it was.

“See, dad. School waits for no supernaturally possessed teenager.” A smile crept onto Stiles’ face as he the sweat glistened between their fingers.

“That’s right,” and it seemed that Scott and Stiles would never stop looking at each other. The rain fell for the rest of the time they spent eating, hands connected and smiles big and wide. It didn't matter that somewhere at the back of Scott’s head he felt darkness threaten their lives again. For the moment, everything was alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We near the end, pirates.


	7. From The Beginning; a Trainwreck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have reached the end of our limited sea, but can you smell that... 

Stiles and Scott did as Stiles so eagerly and sneakily suggested they do, they went to Scott’s house. Melissa was working extra shifts as usual, she was wearing the same uniform she had worn three days before, unwashed. Her hair had become a forest of black curls that she no longer tried to control and her eyes dropped to the floor. Scott worried about her, but she was as persistent as he was. 

Stiles noticed Scott’s worrying expression as he set the car keys on the kitchen counter, next to a note his mother left that read: _left for a night shift, be back in the morning._ The beta slid his palm over his best friend’s shoulder, squeezing ever so slightly to simply let him know that he was there. Scott shrugged it off, putting up his protective façade again, it had been down for awhile now. 

When he twisted to peruse Stiles’ small fragment of a smile, he could smell the scent he had so vaguely caught a whiff of at the diner. He was very familiar with it: _sexual frustration_. It was a bitter, unwanted smell that was so strong Scott could almost taste it. He swallowed it down like coffee grinds, his throat aching and dry. Stiles must have noticed they were on the same page because suddenly his brown eyes sparkled under the light, his lips arched into a smirk of sorts. Like a rush of sultry air, a new scent enclosed the entire kitchen: _libido._

Scott wrapped his hand around Stiles’ waist, pulling them into each other with a hungry carnal fixation, his cheeks twitched. “You know I always thought you wore to many clothes,” Scott teased. Then, his jaw tilted lower and nested near Stiles’ chin so that he could force the beta to catch his lips. Which he did instantly. Their mouths interlocked, tongues caressing each other’s like they alone were two star crossed lovers. The beta found his claws, dug them into Scott’s lower back. The alpha responded with a red eyed growl into Stiles’ mouth and the beta whined passionately. Out of instinct, Scott grabbed Stiles and pulled him into the air, holding him by his hips as they continued to kiss. And the way they kissed was messy. Stiles tasted bitter, too, like the scent his body resonated with. Coffee grinds. 

Stiles pulled himself away, still held by Scott’s firm hands. “You should just remove them then,” said Stiles. 

And Scott was smirking with a harsh stretch of his lips, the fullness of them wet and bitten purple. He threw his right arm around the beta and kept them steady, his free hand ran up Stiles’ legs with long claws burning the fabric. He cut into the material, and ripped it apart. Stiles’ leg hung loose, Scott repeated it with the other, and then there were no pants, just thin black briefs. The alpha was instantly aware of how hard Stiles was, his cock pulsating under the material. The beta stretched to tear apart his shirt, revealing himself to Scott’s observing stare. 

And Scott, himself, was veracious. His lungs filled with an eager feeling, and his head spilled with lustful thoughts. His bearings were lost, he stood dizzily with Stiles in his arms. And Stiles looked beautiful, perfect, sensual while he looked down at his alpha with his large brown eyes and his reddened, parted lips, wanting. Scott did the only thing he could think to do: he laid his mouth down on Stiles’ chest. He was biting, kissing and licking the bitter sweetness that Stiles possessed. He drew his tongue from the beta’s sternum up to his nipple and he bit down hard, his werewolf fangs sharp and vibrating. There was a whine, from who was unclear. But, the blood dribbled down Stiles’ torso and Scott reacted. He licked the red streak down from Stiles’ nipple and back up again, tasting the severeness of it. Stiles gasped at the feeling, and where Scott bit healed quickly. 

Out of nowhere, Scott felt the pull on his hair and he moaned into Stiles’ stomach. Stiles pulled him by his hair to his face and the beta looked so inscrutable that Scott found himself glazed for a second. And then with determination, he spread his tongue over Stiles’ lips and let himself taste every bitter and sweet flavor Stiles offered before biting his bottom lip and pulling away. 

“I want you,” Stiles said, his face was slack-jawed. It sounded like he was surprised or like he hadn't thought about it until that very moment. Scott ignored the idea of that. 

“I want _you_ ,” Scott replied hastily. 

“No, _I_ want you. Me — Stiles — not the werewolf or the — kitsune. I was confused before. And now — _I_ can feel the difference. I want you. Scott, I want you.” Scott hadn't known he was struggling to decipher his own thoughts from that of the beast’s, but maybe he suspected it. It made sense. 

“ **I want you,** ” Scott said, it was an agreement filled with famished lechery. 

“You got me,” and they kissed again. Teeth clanked together for a second before they fixed themselves, and tongues fit into slits and spaces, and mouths motioned around each other like shooting stars colliding with planets. Scott decided: _kissing my best friend was like a supernova that I could control._ Except the thing was he had no control.

He maneuvered with Stiles in his arms to the kitchen counter and laid his beta down like some delicate possession of his, beside the car keys and the note from his mother. Their lips were still locked and Stiles’ legs naturally found themselves tangled around Scott’s waist. 

“I need,” Scott mumbled into Stiles’ lips, “to take off my clothes.” And they pulled apart, Stiles nodding furiously in agreement. He threw his hybrid claws at Scott, ripping his shirt apart with ease. Scott looked mortified at first, surprised by how fast Stiles worked. The beta grinned. Scott stood, naked torso, in front of him.

Stiles let his vision wander, taking in all of Scott’s chest. He watched the muscle contract and stretch as the alpha fixed to pull of his belt and then his pants. Without warning, Scott could feel the blue light flutter on his skin. Stiles’ eyes were gleaming with bright color, he licked his lips. 

“I take it back — I _need_ you,” Stiles growled. Scott smirked, standing bare in front of Stiles. Then, he flashed his red eyes again, the color slowly glowing redder and redder every time he stepped forward. 

When they were a touch apart, Stiles reached into kiss Scott but he tilted away teasingly. There was a growl and a warning for the alpha, who ignored it, and then playfully found his hands on Stiles’ briefs. He let his nails breach the fabric and slowly tear it from front to back as Stiles moved to lay down. Stiles’ breath shuddered. 

The alpha let a his free hand travel to Stiles’ jaw, and slid one of his fingers into the cooperative mouth. He let his finger move between the crevice of Stiles’ teeth until it scraped his finger. And when Stiles bit down on it the alpha growled loudly. He withdrew his finger and moved them to where he had slowly ripped Stiles’ brief in half. And now, Scott was leaning down against Stiles, his right hand on the beta’s thigh and the other pressing softly toward Stiles’ entrance. He was whimpering as Scott’s breath found his jaw and then then let his teeth sink into flesh. His finger slid in perfectly, Stiles' tight skin puckering. 

Unexpectedly, Scott heard himself say in some distant spectral way, “Tell me you're mine.” And there was a dominance that Stiles gulped at.

Stiles’ chest heaved, he rolled his hips onto Scott’s finger and let himself push down the firm bone. Scott’s breath curled on his jaw. “I told you, you got me — I'm _yours_.” Then, Scott pressed another finger and pushed further, and further, and further. Stiles purred loudly. 

Scott retreated from Stiles’ jaw, his face pulled into an unreadable expression of desire, and watched as his fingers slid out of his beta. The pink flesh parting slowly with every last stretch until it hollowed, desperate and empty. He felt the same thrilling hunger thrash in his gut. He couldn't stop staring at it, the most sensitive parts of Stiles’ body, the most private parts and they were for him. He leveled himself so that the pink and wet circles looked deeply into his eyes. Stiles was still whimpering, desperate and empty until he felt his alpha kiss the softness of his entry. It was sweet and subtle and _so_ Scott. Then, Stiles felt Scott’s tongue dig into him, seeking out something he was starving for. And his body shook widely, the sensation of Scott’s tongue tickling against his skin made his head reel back and forth.  


Stiles thought: _let this never end_. But, then it was. Scott returned to him, holding his cock suggestively in his hand and warning Stiles that he needed to _fuck_ him right now. And then… it was all red and blue eyes becoming purple, deep kisses and soft murmurs as Scott thrust into him. 

Stiles closed around Scott’s dick, and the alpha’s stomach twirled and his eyes rolled around in his head with the feeling of it. He thrust harder. Stiles bit onto Scott’s shoulder, whining, rocking himself to the rhythm of the alpha. Out of the blue, a hand encompassed Stiles’ cock and stroked the beta roughly. And then… it was all red and blue eyes becoming purple, deep thrusts and slow jerks. 

There was an abrupt grunt that warned Scott, and he looked down at Stiles with red, glowing eyes. “I'm going to come.” 

Stiles nodded furiously with agreement, his blue eyes like uncontrolled lasers. Scott fisted the table, the impact ringing in Stiles’ ears. And the beta felt everything spill inside him, the warmth dissembling on his skin and making him shudder. The thought of it pushed him further, he jerked into Scott’s slowing hand and spewed between their stomachs. 

Uncontrolled and unpatterned moans and pants became a familiar sound. Stiles was flustered, cheeks coral colored and his neck was damp and sore from Scott’s persistence. Scott watched the scene, the feeling of himself inside his beta and everything sticky and wild between them. It was _everything_. It was **_his._**. **_Stiles was his._**

Both their eyes glimmered into soft colors, and their claws found themselves retracting. Scott's breath was that of boy’s, and one with asthma at that. The air he drew felt pained and hard to catch up to, but he knew he was okay. Stiles had his finger on Scott’s cheek, rubbing sweet, soft, and tiny circles into the sweaty skin. Where the world seemed to be rocking back and forth before, it came to a stillpoint as they remained there, together. 

“I'm all yours,” Scott heard Stiles say softly, almost inaudibly. 

He said, still sweaty and panting quietly, “I love you,” and he pulled himself off of Stiles, not missing a chance to run his hands down the beta’s thighs. He breathed it in. He breathed in all the strong scents that laid between the two of them, and he let the scent of himself touch his nostrils while it slid out from Stiles’ perfect, pink skin. _He had tasted that_ , he reminded himself. A smile leaped onto his dizzy expression. 

Stiles sat up, grinning, “I know — I love you, too.” They stayed like that for awhile, smiling stupidly at one another before Stiles said, “Dude, I need a shower. I don't know about you, but I’m sticky and if we’re going to cuddle and actually study then… I need a shower.” 

“You were serious about catching up with work?” 

Stiles scoffed, “And risk expulsion by not doing it. I’d rather be possessed by another dark spirit before I face Ms. Martin.” 

Scott was webbed up in laughter and smiles, a strong feeling was bound to his chest. He remembered the yellow canary darting through the sky from days ago when he raced to find Stiles. He remembered how he was jealous of creature that could so easily leave this dark world for ever. Now, he thought: _Leave? To end up losing such a beautiful person. Why would I want that?_

Stiles was his. Stiles was his beta and his… 

“We should go out — together — on a date,” Scott said nervously. 

It took a moment before Stiles said, “Yes. We should, but — let’s shower first, and deal with Kate, and Derek being missing. And, school.” Scott didn't exactly look hurt by the fact that he had gotten half a rejection because he knew Stiles was right. “Although, that doesn't mean I'm not going to totally kiss the shit out of you while we deal with everything else.” 

There was a face-splitting grin, and it was wondrous.

  


⚓️

  
**Years ago…**

Twelve-year-old Scott Mccall fell to his knees, readying himself for what Stiles was about to show him. The lanky boy rolled down his jeans and guided Scott’s hands to feel the hairs that had sprouted magically over night. Exploring each other’s changes was becoming their intimate secret. The thing that separated them from the world and intertwined them together. 

“It feels different than mine, it’s softer,” Scott managed to whisper, his eyes glistening with excitement. 

“I wonder why that is?” was Stiles’ response, but he never truly questioned it. 

Scott’s fingers separated as he palmed the whole patch of hairs and let the single strands sneak between his fingers. It was a strange thing to do and he realized it as soon as he did it, but he didn't quit. He rubbed his thumb and finger to draw into Stiles’ hairs. His best friend pushed his hips forward by default, absent minded to what mixed message it had sent Scott. And because Scott knew the connotations that came with rolling hips and having your hands pressed to another man’s crotch he pulled his fingers away in a vicious snap, his face looked wan. 

Scott regretted it immediately because Stiles looked like he had just seen a ghost or been shot by his own father. He was engulfed by betrayal, stunned. 

“I was surprised,” Scott admitted, “please don't think I was – 

“No, no — we probably shouldn't do this anyway. I don't think the other boys… you know…” 

They never spoke about their hairs again. Scott forgot why he had mentioned it in the first place. 

  


⚓️

**Present day...**

  
A thought had drawn Scott to place his eyes over Stiles’ body, watching as the water drizzled down his spine and curved over the soft, brown mole that stood unmistakably on Stiles’ lower back. He wanted to ask: _did you always have a mole on your ass?_ However, he knew Stiles’ answer would go something like, _moles don’t appear overnight, dumbass, of course it’s always been there._ He knew that they would laugh and smile if the conversation went in that direction. He ached to push them into that moment. That moment when Stiles’ body would break down into unconscious jerks while he laughed. 

But instead, he pressed a kiss at the back of Stiles’ neck. It was so soft Stiles nearly missed it. Scott let his hands find Stiles’ skin and massage into it, doing anything to just have his hands on Stiles. He thought about how Stiles looked sprawled on the kitchen counter and how he smelled of _**want**_. He liked that smell on Stiles. He wanted Stiles to know how much he liked it, too. He wanted to just tell Stiles everything. To just be with him like he is now. He wanted it. Had it. But, when would something come and take it away? The fear of everything he had disappearing threatened him so much that deep in his chest his heart beat rose from some sort of slumber and thundered against his rib cage. Stiles noticed. 

“What’s wrong?” Stiles asked, letting Scott melt into his neck with his lips. 

A wary breath fell into Stiles’ skin, “I just — _just_ love you so much.” Suddenly, his heart was calm and his voice was fine. Scott curtained his worries from Stiles, he didn't want Stiles to stress anymore… to hurt anymore. Which was how Scott had always felt from the beginning; when their friendship had blossomed into the trainwreck it was. The beautiful trainwreck it was. 

For Scott, Stiles getting hurt was over. Once and for all. 

He kissed the back of Stiles’ neck again. Then, he kissed lower, tracing a path of kisses until Stiles’ back made an arc. When Scott was where he wanted to be, bent down, he let his hands spread Stiles’ wet cheeks apart. He pecked the pink skin he loved so much and felt his best friend shiver. The shudder, Scott told himself, the shudder and the sound of Stiles moaning was something he was growing to like. 

  


⚓️

  
Scott lay on his bed with nothing but a towel, a pizza box at his feet and a pile of books beside his stretched out leg. Stiles was fully dressed, chewing onto one of the pineapples Scott so easily tossed off of his pizza. In Stiles’ other hand, he had an open physics book, he read something titled: Electromagnetism and… 

“After all that has happened I still hate this stupid class.” 

Scott checked his phone, chuckling as Stiles threw the book to the side and came over to sit on his lap. He was warm on the wet towel, his hands peered over Scott’s firm body. 

“It’s a text from Lydia,” He turned to look at Stiles, his smile widening, “how do you feel about a trip to Mexico?” 

Stiles captioned the idea: _the next adventure_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The salt from the ocean. Can you imagine that there could be more beyond this story. We'll have to see, pirates. 


	8. The Sequel: To The End; A Wrecking Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An extract from the sequel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **  
> Warning**  
>   
> 
> Do not read unless you have watched the current season 6 of Teen Wolf, unless you're like me and spoilers might as well kiss your ass.

Dust catalogued into space, enveloping every ounce of free air that struggled to breathe through the sandstorm. Light shot through the small cracks of emptiness that were blown away too quickly for anyone to notice. Wherever there was wind, sand followed. Sand followed until the Earth flipped upside down and left the ground to rot under the cold tornado of rock hard sand particles that twisted around the area.

  
The sound of drowning rose from the opaque wall of filth that swept everything into the sky. A moment later, the muffled noise was clearer. It wasn't until Scott McCall could be seen crawling through the sandy wind that his screaming could be heard.

  
“Stiles!”

  
However, Stiles couldn't hear him, he couldn't hear the sound of his boyfriend’s bellowing. It rushed into his ears as quiet as the buzzing of a distant fly. Irritable but not close enough to turn the cheek. Stiles stood over Kate, much larger than anything else in sight. His transformation had allowed him to evolve into something remarkably unrecognizable to anyone these days. The only way Scott knew it was Stiles was by smell, and he knew that smell perfectly. That, and because a nine tailed werewolf roaming the streets of Mexico wasn't a regular occasion. Especially one that could sift the dirt from the earth and blow a person out of breath — no pun intended... but that’s not to say that Scott couldn't vouch.

  
Kate was a werejaguar, her blue scales looked bleak and green from the fear that diluted her razor sharp features. Stiles wasn't in control, not with the wind twisting and thrusting like thousands of soldiers, all of whom were ready to comply and kill at his beck and call. And he definitely wasn't in control with his nine tails whipping behind him and his blue eyes lasering the ground.

  
“Stiles, listen to me!” Scott was much closer now, and much angrier than he was before. The words were forced between his gritted fangs and when it buzzed into Stiles’ ears, he could swear that Scott was growling from a foot away. The wind thrashed down in a second, every tunnel and tornado ceased by a tingle and a crack of Stiles’ neck.

  
Abruptly, Stiles’ shoulder tightened. A hard grip pressed over him and it wasn't Scott’s. Stiles knew the difference. Kate pulled him down to the ground and found herself pressing a double-edged dagger to his throat, the wolfsbane core turned the smell of his skin into that of melted rubber.

  
“Should have killed me when you had the chance, Stilinski,” and Stiles shut his eyes because… **_this was it._**

  
A crazed gurgling sound sloshed around in his throat, the smell of blood filled his nostrils. **_This was it._**

  
He heard a soft voice speaking, it was so clear and warm. The heat from the Mexican sun barely tickled his cheeks. “Michislav, you're okay. I'm here.”

  
It was Scott. What happened? Stiles opened his eyes, but it was quickly wrapped tight by Scott’s teary embrace, a wet kiss of relief.

  
The blood smelled strong.

  
_What happened?_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does anyone actually want a sequel?

**Author's Note:**

> And to all my highschool friends who said I could never finish a story,  
> Thank you, bitches.
> 
> For [more](http://gemnosha.tumblr.com)


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